5 years later…

"When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all. He keeps all of his bones, and not one of them is broken. For he knows the plans He has for you, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future…and a hope. So do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your request be known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Jesus name. Amen.

This has been Father Jerome, live from the Blackmore settlement out of New Orleans. To anyone listening out there, stay safe and God bless. Hope is not lost."

Jerome released the call button on the old school ham radio microphone and placed it back on the battered desk. He leaned back in his swivel chair, placed his hands behind his head, and sighed long and deep.

The more things change…Jerome thought wearily. He thought often of the tumultuous five years all their lives had undergone, but the more he realized, he found that by a twist of fate, he was right back where it had all started.

Five years ago, Jerome was a troubled priest trying desperately to cling onto any shred of faith he had left. Now he was the battle hardened leader of the Blackmore settlement, named by Charity after her deceased love and located in the church he thought he'd never see again. The church was actually more of a fortress now, with makeshift guard towers, iron palisades surrounding the perimeter and barred windows. The settlement was populated by Jerome's congregation and about fifty of the survivors from the Superdome. Here, they carved out a meager yet fruitful existence at the end of the world. Thanks to the know-how from several of the Superdome survivors, the acres of fields near the church had been converted into farmland that sustained them during the harvest months, and the sprawling woodlands homed a plethora of deer and other smaller animals for hunting. None of them were under the illusion that they would ever return to the creature comforts of 21st century living. The electrical grid went down almost four years ago and gasoline and ammunition were scarce. New Orleans and other major cities were still too infested with hellspawn to properly scour for essential supplies, and there was always the threat of demon hordes wandering too close to their settlement. They used whatever they could not only to survive, but to reach out to others around the world as well.

Tucked away in the basement of the church was the old ham radio that Bernard once operated as a hobby. The days of Internet and social media were long over, but with the radio setup, they were able to communicate with survivors far and wide. There was the outpost in Chicago ran by the remains of the Illinois National Guard, the reservations out west which joined together and dug into the Rocky Mountain foothills, and even the semblance of a central command still operating out of Washington D.C.

The most surprising discovery they had made using the ham radio, however, was the existence of the city of New Jerusalem. After Exodus Has Fallen, a band of Israeli Defense Force soldiers successfully toppled the despotic regime that had taken the city. The leader of the freedom fighters was none other than Yehoshua Schneider's sister, Tikvah. Jerome had thought it was poetic how the young woman was related to the man who had selflessly risked his life to save the lives of others, especially considering what her name meant in Hebrew.

Hope.

The door to the basement stairwell opened and Charity ambled inside, a leather bag in her hand. She wore a drab, olive green camo uniform, her hair styled in a tangle of dreadlocks that she kept tied behind her back.

"Hey Char," Jerome said.

"Hey," she replied, plopping down into the worn swivel chair on the other side of the desk and opening the bag. She pulled out a bottle of vodka and a cup.

Jerome raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think it's a little too early to be getting sauced?"

"Special occasion." She poured herself a drink, extracted another cup from the bag and poured a second. She offered Jerome the cup.

He shrugged and accepted the proffered cup. "Where'd you even find this?"

"Convenience store on the border of Dulvey Parish."

"We turned that place over months ago."

"Didn't look hard enough."

"Guess not." he raised his cup. "What's the special occasion?"

Charity's face fell. "It's his birthday."

Shit. Jerome thought. It hurt him to see Charity still so distraught. She nursed her drink in both hands, the same clouded over look in her eyes they were all used to seeing. Five years ago, it seemed that her smile had died as well, and while some days were easier than others, today of all days was a grim reminder of what they had lost. What she had lost.

"I'm sorry Char," Jerome said softly. "He knows how much he means to you, and he would be so proud of the woman you've become."

Charity sniffled and wiped at her eyes. "He's safe now, free from all this shit."

Jerome forced a weak smile. Even after all these years, he hadn't told a soul the truth about his death. When pressed, he had answered vaguely: after dying, there was nothing but black, then suddenly he was resurrected. How could he explain that Heaven had abandoned them because of the actions of a selfless angel? How could he explain that God was nothing more than a petulant autocrat, or that he had condemned himself to an eternity of Limbo once his eventual death came?

He couldn't.

So, Jerome did what he did best; he preached the Good Word, gave the survivors the world over something to believe in. In the end, all they had was each other, and despite the horrors he had seen perpetrated by humans and even the things he had done himself to survive the past five years, Jerome would never lose faith in his fellow man.

Charity finally raised her cup. "To Tyler, and all the people we've lost along the way."

Jerome raised his cup and toasted her. "Amen to that."

He downed his cup, savoring the smooth taste and headrush. For a while, neither spoke. Jerome fiddled with the ham radio controls until he came across a station playing music. A soft Rock ballad emanated from the speakers and Jerome found himself bobbing his head and tapping his foot to the tune. He rose from his chair, boogied over to Charity, and offered her his hand.

"Care to dance, m'lady?"

The young woman rolled her eyes, but she took Jerome's hand and he whisked her to her feet. He held her close as they found each other's rhythm and floated in the river of music. She had a fragrant, earthy scent, not at all unpleasant, and for the millionth time since this had all begun, Jerome wished that things were different for her. For all of them.

The sound of tiny feet pounding down the stairs broke them from their reverie of music. The basement door crashed open, and little Leah Lafleur stood at the threshold. The child was beautiful, the perfect compliment of her parents features with deep olive skin and a mop of kinky hair tied into pigtails. Her light hazel eyes were wide and full of fright as she pointed back the way she had come.

"Uncle 'Rome, Auntie Char, there's monsters outside!" Leah whimpered.

Jerome sighed and switched off the ham radio. "It's ok my little angel, me and Char will take care of the mean ol' monsters!"

"They're big and nasty," Leah said. "With big claws and teeth that go like this-" she animatedly waved her tiny hands beneath her chin and contorted her face in a mock roar.

"Hmmm, sounds like Skeezers," Charity said, using the name Bernard had come up for the various classes of hellspawn.

"Sounds like they picked the wrong place to crash. C'mon Leah, show us where these monsters are." Jerome and Charity followed the girl up the stairs. On the last stair, Leah tripped and fell hard on her knee.

"Ow!" she exclaimed.

"Aww, did my little angel hurt herself?" Linda appeared and knelt next to her daughter. She wore jeans and a loose fitting tank top, her long blonde hair tied into a ponytail. The five years since giving birth had been forgiving to Linda's diminutive physique, as the mother sported a toned and athletic build.

Leah bit back tears as Linda inspected her leg. Looking at the child, all 3 foot seven and wearing SpongeBob pajamas with a skinned knee, it was hard to picture her as the future savior of mankind, but the tapestry didn't lie.

"Now remember, what do we do about booboos?" Linda asked her daughter.

Leah nodded resolutely and held her tiny hand over her knee. A white light radiated from her palm, basking the scrape in a spectral glow. The abrasion on her knee healed in seconds, leaving the flesh hale.

"Good girl!" Linda clapped enthusiastically.

Leah beamed with pride. It seemed there was one final gift her angelic counterpart had bestowed upon the child.

"Run and tell your dad there's trouble coming, and be careful!" Linda said.

"Ok!" Leah bounded away in search of her father, pretending to be just a child again.

Jerome and Charity followed Linda outside into the early evening air. They found Bernard and a small group of survivors near the field. Bernard had styled himself as Blackmore's resident historian, chronicling the events of the past five years for future generations. He had also taken it upon himself to create a bestiary of the hellspawn, studying and naming the creatures in hopes of finding more efficient ways of killing them. Bernard, whose hair had grown a bit greyer but his body leaner, peered through a set of binoculars towards the tree line of the woodlands.

"What are we looking at Uncle Bernie?" Jerome asked as he joined the group.

"Pack of Skeezers hanging near the trees, must've picked up the scent of the settlement."

"Told you," Charity said.

"We should flank them so they don't have a chance to slip back into the woods," Myers said. Despite the former National Guardsmen still never obtaining an angelic weapon, he proved invaluable to the success of the settlement.

Jerome flared his sword. "Alright people, let's make this simple and quick. Frank, Myers, and I will cut around and smoke them out into the open, then Charity and Uncle Bernie will light 'em up."

A sharp whistle from above drew Jerome's attention. He turned towards the guard tower and saw Percy already perched in his roost, angelic rifle raised and aimed towards the hellspawn.

Beneath the merciless and uncaring heavens, Jerome and his congregation headed once more into the fray of battle.

THE END